30 November 2008

Teleport THIS

The other day, I was approached by a very aggressive Italian fellow who seemed committed to the idea that I was to be his sweetheart. Like most Romeos, this bloke used arguments of feelings to convey his intent; there was nothing rooted in fact and nothing rooted in deed.

"u will be my sweetheart," he cooed via IM.

"Not likely."

"u r my mistress"

"Very unlikely."


Now, I'll chat up anyone at anytime and show respect and compassion. However, as soon as disrespect enters into the other person's words and deeds, well, all bets are off. No negotiation, no warning.

So I did an old trick of mine. I teleported to the Isle of Lesbos, which as you may guess, is not very freindly to the male half of the species. I flew over the main dance area, where gals were slipping and sliding all round each other. Then I IMed the Italian stallion.

"Do you want to join me in my bedchamber?" I asked. Always found the word 'bedchamber' to sound rather like a torture device, but still, it fit the moment.

"yes," he answered in monosyllabic joy.

So I sent him an offer of teleport. He materialized, and fell 200 meters to a lynch mob in thigh-high boots.

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